An honored failure
by Leara Fiera
Summary: Several years ago, two government hired persons had a mission. Both mission involved the other and left them unsettled. Now, it has been years and they meet while struggling with recent set-backs. Will they finally be able to deal? Adult themes mentioned!
1. Chapter 1: Tearing the triggers apart

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Yes, I post this because I have been feeling bad. My other stories haven't been updated lately or at all and some of you probably hate my guts. I was going through my email account and seen all of the comments, reviewing and users who've hit the favorite button. I am thus posting this. I can't even remember when I wrote this one, but I have been skimming it through and I know it's no excuse for my lack of posing/publishing but here I am. I haven't died yet.. My laptop broke down this summer so I got a MacBook instead, only to have all of the files (actually, only some, including a third chapter for "Survival" that needs re-typing) needing to be typed in another program my MacBook could use. Endlessly sorry though!

This story is not my first - actually, it is probably the first I wrote - cross-over and it will not just be a one-chaptered story. I hope to publish soon, but don't count on anything. Oh, and reviews make my guilt heavier thus posting more often.

**Timeline: **Set just after NCIS' 7x01: "Truth or Consequences" and before Booth returned to work duty in 5x01: "Harbingers in a Fountain"

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or NCIS or any of their characters. I just wish I do.

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**Part 1: Identification**

Booth hated these things. He was almost sick of it; everything else would be a relief. However, if he wanted to do field work again, he had to go. Aware of this, he walked to his car. What he wouldn't do to have an excuse not to go - hell, he would even live with Sweets trying to shrink him over and over again, just to back working with Brennan again.

Brennan.

He still wasn't quite sure what were his real feelings towards her, and what was from the coma dream of his. It disturbed him, really, and he had promised himself that when these psychology class were over, he would let everything back to normal, let his Bones decide. After all, even she, with her lack of social skills, could feel if there were any emotions between them.

Luckily, this was his last time to go to the stupid class, which he found no useful, and then he could start working with the squints again. Not active duty, but at least he could be there, even though he had no clue what they were talking about.

He reached the building where the class was held and parked the car. Slightly annoyed, he looked at the entrance, knowing he should just get this over with. He entered the lobby, finding the 'class room' as he preferred to call it to himself.

The usual wrecks of other agency departments were already there, either talking or shielding themselves from the danger of having a conversation. Some more people entered and their psychologist, Dr. Turner, soon joined them. He handled out some papers that they were to fill, which reminded Booth further of the paperwork, he could have been doing instead. Dr. Turner started to shrink some of the really unconfident persons who nearly broke down if he just looked at them.

Five minutes into the lesson, another person entered the door. She was medium height, tanned and had long dark brown hair, moving with grace and impatience to an available seat, two seats to his right. He didn't pay that much attention to her before he was done filling out the paper sheets. Then when he looked at her, his eyes widened in surprise.

He recognized her - how could he forget her? - as she sat there, biting her upper-lip, and looking haunted yet calm.

What was she doing here, in a federal routine? She was a singer, a very beautiful one. He remembered the first night, he saw her like it was yesterday. Hell, even the music that was playing and the song she was singing, rushed back.

_He was scanning the crowd of people in the room for his target, but no Middle-Eastern male in his last twenties was to be seen. But the night is young, he reminded himself. Suddenly the light in the restaurant was lowered and only the light on stage remained, as a female voice filled the room in song. The music came on as the curtains were removed, revealing a very attractive woman. Her skin was tanned and her brown hair laid gorgeously down at her shoulder, caressing her soft skin. With seductive movements, she got everybody's attention, enjoying it, enchanting everyone with the spell of her song. Her emerald green dress revealed almost everything, only few in inches of her body remained covered. _

_All of his worries disappeared when he looked into her brown eyes, sparkling of fire. She was finishing her song, her eyes on him and only him. She smiled intriguing and received an applause, before disappearing behind the curtain. First then he was able to exhale. He was stunned by her, and she was absolutely out of his range._

But what was she doing here? The class was for rehabilitation in federal bureaus, not a civilian course of lack of confidence. If she was a singer, then what the hell was she doing here? By the time his mind was progressing these thoughts, he heard Dr. Turner speak to her.

"Miss David?" Even though it was only a whisperer, Booth was able to hear it.

"I have to go, unfortunately. My team's got a case," she replied, already getting her stuff.

"But, miss…"

"I promise to email you the papers," was the last thing, she said, before storming out of class, leaving a slightly irritated, yet helpless Dr. Turner behind.

Twenty minutes after, Booth left the class, wondering how she would be there. What was it, Dr. Turner had called her? … David, was it. He had never used her first name. Booth realized that he had never known her last name, only her first name.

Sarah, was it. Sarah David. It sounded reasonable. But Turner had pronounced it different that the normal 'Day-vid', like if it was accented. But as far as Booth knew, Turner's native tongue was American and not a foreign language.

His mind distracted, he drove home. When he didn't have shrink classes, doctor's appointments or something like that, he was at home, boring his ass out. He was home ten minutes after, avoiding the traffic. As he unlocked the door, throwing the keys at the coffee table, he ran his hands through his hair. Seeing her after these years was overwhelming him. Sitting on his couch, he poured the whisky into the glass, re-remembering his first meeting with Sarah.

_He had been thinking on her since he had seen her performance. Nothing else could led his mind off of her. How her every movement had seemed to enchant him, her eyes had been seducing him. When he was unable to get his mind cleared, he sat down in the bar, ordering a drink. He really shouldn't drink instead of finding his target, but he could always find him tomorrow. As he poured down his drink, a hand was laid on his shoulder. He looked at the person standing behind him and recognized her, even though she now was dressed in a less revealing dress, which still shown not worthy to be carried of her. Her hair was set up, a romantic curl remained, and her smile was as charming as he remembered._

"_Hi," he greeted, smiling flirtatiously._

"Bonjour_," was her reply. She was French apparently, because her accent was notifying, making her beauty glow._

"_You speak English?" he asked._

_She nodded. "_Qui, un peu,_" she replied, smiling brightly. He could feel his heart pumped in his chest. Get yourself together, he ordered himself to do so._

_She sat down next to him, ordering a Tequila. He smiled at that. Fiery girl, he thought for himself. Not just because she was hot, but she had created this sexual tension between them and hadn't yet turned him down._

"_What's your name?" he flirted._

"_My name's Sarah," she told him. "_Tu?"

_He knew enough French to understand the word. He smiled, moving closer to her, hoping she wouldn't find it assaulting. He had been told to check in under an alias, but was devastated to tell her a lie._

"_Joseph," he responded, using his middle-name. It wasn't that big a lie, he convinced himself about. "Your song was very beautiful," he complimented._

"Merci_," Sarah said, then trying to use his language. "I noticed you, when I sang. I always like fans," she giggled; and what a beautiful giggle, he found himself thinking._

_They sat there, both flirting for about an hour, before they silently took the elevator up. A little shy, they reached his floor, looking at each other, not sure what to do. The hallway was empty, so he took the chance and punched her up the wall, kissing her lips like the sun had gone down for the last time ever. Judging by her reaction, she hadn't expected it, but after a moment, she decided to go for it, and willingly kissed him over and over again. After about a minute of this - making out in the hotel hallway - hearing a ding from the elevator, she spoke._

"_We should probably get inside," she suggested, giggling as she caressed his neck with her fingers, her legs wrapped around his body._

"_Good idea," was his respond as he unlocked the door to his hotel room, dragging the French woman into bed._

He took another sip of the scotch, raising a brow as he remembered that night. It had been one of the best nights of his life, mainly because of Sarah. She had been so full of temptation, making him forget that he only had one life. The morning after had revealed, well, something.

_He woke up, remembering last night with a grin. He looked around the bed, only to find their dropped clothes, they had been undressing the night before. Sarah's cocktail dress was in the middle of the floor, the glitter sparkling in the sunlight from the window. With a groan, he looked at the clock. Ten in the morning. Reaching for the spot next to him, expecting the beautiful French singer to be there. The spot was empty and yet still warm. He quickly awoke, getting a pair of boxers from his suitcase, starting to look for Sarah. Moments after, she got out of the shower, clean yet wet. He noticed her as she reached for a towel with closed eyes but instead of the towels, he grabbed her, kissing her on the neck._

"_Joseph," she grinned charmingly. She laid her hands on his chest as he captured her lips, gently at first, but then more heated and passionate. He truly felt like the world's luckiest guy to have a girl like Sarah sleeping next to him. She was so beautiful, so full of life, maybe because of the six years between them._

"_I have to go, Joseph. Song rehearsal today. I will be inspecting you tonight, will I?" she asked him, almost begging._

"_I'll be there, Sarah."_

Yes, he had been head-over-heels in love with her from day one. He had been so distracted that he had even lost his target. He had been furious, so frustrated and damned mad at himself for letting him get distracted.

_He had been so close. He had seen his target, once he had been entering the breakfast restaurant the day before. Now the target was nowhere to be seen, had disappeared from the surface of Earth. He was angry, both at himself, but that this would meaning he should leave Sarah, too. _

"_You're _tendu_, Joseph," Sarah noticed, before translating. "Tensed."_

"_Well, let's just say that I have had a really bad day," he told her, sitting at the bed, thoughts rushing through his head. All this he had to let go._

"_Is anything wrong?" she asked, massaging his shoulders from behind, having her legs wrapped around him._

_They had been together for a week now, yet he knew he could trust her. He knew that he couldn't tell her the truth, either. He hated lying to her, but he had to._

"_I'll have to leave soon," he whispered in her ears, slowly making such a posture that she was lying under him, her hands on his chest. "And I won't come back."_

"_Joseph," she cried, leaning her head to his chest, slowly undressing him. "I can't leave, meaning we have to split." He noticed the tears running down her cheeks as he caressed her soft face._

"_Let's at least enjoy our last hours," he suggested, before kissing her and soon forgetting the situation, he had fucked up. _

He had fell in love. Yes, he knew it was absolutely the worst thing, you could do working undercover. And he had done it. Luckily, Sarah hadn't been all too emotional, when he had left. She had kissed him, her voice had gotten hoarse, but she hadn't cried. She had promised him that she wouldn't dwell over him, and yet he had felt so guilty that he hadn't been able to forget her in two months. He had been busy with joining FBI and fighting with Rebecca over Parker. But she had always been in the back of his head, forgotten. And all of these memories and emotions had rushed back the second, he had seen Sarah again. All of the passion, the tightness, the… easiness. He had never bonded with a person so quick as he had with Sarah. He had told himself at least a dozen times that it had only been a fling, but it truly hadn't.

It was then, he realized that he not only _had _been in love with Sarah. He _was_ in love with Sarah.

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	2. Chapter 2: Liars and half truths

**A/N: **So, I haven't written chapter three yet but feel free to come with ideas 'cause I need more than one if this is going where I think it's going. I will probably not turn it in to a joint case but I promise that perhaps in five or six chapters there will be some Ziva interaction with the squints. Excited? I am. I am yet to decide whether or not anything particularly happened between them after the operation but there will be spoilers for Truth or Consequences and future eps in both series. Maybe I'll be predictable and take the usual storyline or I'll come op with something brilliant. Anyways, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or NCIS or any of their characters. **

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The next day he got up and dressed in his usual suit with a colorful tie. He tried to avoid what he had realized yesterday, but found himself driving to the building where the classes were being held. He wanted to talk with Sarah, if not to admit his feelings, then to apologize for leaving her like that. He was raised to be a gentleman and on the mission he had acted like an ass. She had taken it well – better than every else woman might would have – and yet he still, after six years, felt guilty as hell for leaving her. They had after all, connected.

He didn't feel like actually entering the building, but he found himself staking out the place thirty minutes after arriving. Just as he started wondering why he actually was doing this, she left the building, heading for the parking lot. He went out of the car and decided to cut her off before she reached her car.

"Hi," he said to her, while she had her back turned to him. He flashed back to the night six years ago, almost wanting her to greet him in French. However, now it was him surprising her and not the other way around. She turned around, looking into his eyes before she recognized him. She looked at him exactly like the evening at the bar. Curious, yet calm.

"Hi," she responded. "Do I know you?" He could hear in her voice that it was a cover-up. He also noticed the shadows on her face, ignorant of what had caused them. It looked like healing bruises, but he couldn't be sure.

"Yeah. My name is Booth," he introduced. "Seeley _Joseph_ Booth."

She looked at him, trying not to reveal that much. "Sorry, I don't remember…" she stammered, reaching for the car's handle. He stopped her in the middle of the movement, forcing her to face him.

"C'mon, Sarah. Don't play like that. I recognized you, and I know that you recognized me as well," he pointed out. She sighed, realizing that pretending led her nowhere.

"I do recognize you, Joseph," Sarah admitted. "But my name isn't Sarah."

Booth was confused. Now she wasn't Sarah? How could that even be true? Unless she was schizophrenic or something like that. However, she looked oddly collected and certain.

"Let's talk," he suggested coldly. "There's a café one block away."

Silently, she nodded, letting go of the car door and walking with him, looking down on the pavement as they walked away from their cars.

They reached the café just as Booth couldn't handle the tension and silence anymore. After ordering black coffee – which he was surprised that she drank, however, didn't complain – he stared at her, not angry, but frustrated.

"Well, if you aren't Sarah, then who are you, then?" he requested, as he drank of the hot liquid, trying to remain somewhat calm as she were.

"Ziva David," she replied, the truth evident in her eyes and her voice as sincere as he'd ever heard anyone speak. She pronounced it 'Dah-veed' just as Dr. Turner apparently had done.

"Gotta explain, Sa- Ziva," he corrected himself. He had never heard of the name until now. It wasn't a French name, it didn't sound French. First now, he noticed that her accent was different, yet she did talk with an almost unnoticeable accent.

"I can't tell you that much, Joseph. It's classified," she informed him. He grinned slightly, showing her his FBI badge. She didn't pale or react at the badge but did raise a brow and showed some recognition.

"Even for the FBI," she responded. He raised a brow, but didn't ask. She sighed in respond.

"How classified is it when even FBI mustn't know it?" Booth questioned and looked at her with suspicion. When she spoke, her voice seemed tired and like she was choosing her words with care.

"Joseph -" He loved the way she pronounced his name, "- it is Mossad information."

Mossad? The Israeli agency? He had heard stories about the almost emotionless warriors, but never met one. They were supposed to be trained in espionage, assassination, to infiltrate, to spy and to interrogative (which was a loose term – simply another word for torture). He couldn't believe that Sar- Ziva - had been the victim of one of these... warriors.

"Mossad? How are you involved in Mossad?"

"Joseph, _I am_ a Mossad officer," she replied, like it was her last name he had asked for. "I've been that since I was twenty," she informed him but it sounded like a confession.

Booth was stunned. How could the weak, vulnerable, young woman in front of him be called emotionless or have any ties to an agency as Mossad – that was just wrong.

"Mossad? As in…" He was cut off.

"As in, I'm trained in combat, psychological warfare and espionage among other things, I am not so proud of," she admitted, chewing her lower lip. "I was on an assignment when I met you."

Ah, she had sensed the question. Wait, did she say 'assignment' – what assignment?

"And what was your mission?"

"To seduce you," Ziva stated truthfully and an emotion – guilt? – was quickly hidden again. "I was ordered to distract you because your target was an officer of the Mossad."

"You did quite well," he flirted, only to realize what he was doing. He should be mad at her but wasn't. After all, he had lied to her as well.

"I've been told," she chuckled, almost as she had giggled under the assignment, yet this was far more serious, fitting the haunted look in her eyes. She was broken, he could see that, and he knew he avoided the subject.

"I guess you're not really French?" he supposed, sipping to the still-too-hot coffee. He was surprised that Ziva was half done with her cup, not showing any signs of burns in her throat.

"No, I'm not. I'm Israeli, as you probably already have figured," she confessed, smiling almost as brightly as before.

"Your accent was great," he complimented, wondering instead of confronting her. "How many languages do you speak?" he asked, curiously, avoiding the real subject of the chat.

"Fluent or just enough to start a conversation?" she talked back flirtatiously.

"Let's just say speak."

"Nine," she replied without hesitation. "Hebrew is my first language, Arabic is my second, then comes Italian, Spanish, French, Turkish, Russian, German and English, but I always gets the idioms wrong, according to my partner," she said.

"Wow, that's quite a lot –" Booth was interrupted by her cell ringing.

"Sorry, I have to take this," she excused after looking at the display once; caller I.D. He nodded, understanding, as he secretly listened to her conversation:

"David.."

_Pause._

"No, I'm done –"

_Pause._

Yes, I will be there –"

_Pause._

"You won't dare, Tony, I'll kill you without hesitation if you do!" she threatened, shocking him.

_Long pause._

"Yes, I can... You have to cut down the sugar, Tony, it's disgusting –"

_Pause._

"– Yes, bye." Then she hung up, sending him an eye excuse.

"I have to go," she apologized. "It was very nice talking to you again, Joseph," she said, smiling.

"You said something about a partner before. Wouldn't he be mad for you spending the morning with me?" he asked, mostly to keep the conversation going, as they paid for the coffee and walked to the parking lot.

"He's not like that. We're partners at work," she defended and her body language immediately tensed and went on alert.

"How's that?" Booth grinned and she relaxed.

"I work for NCIS now," she clarified.

Before he could even comment that, she was gone, starting her car as she drove out of the lot. He was stunned.

NCIS. He had heard some of his co-workers talk about the marines being impossible to cooperate with and totally cumbersome. As far as Booth knew, one specific team had pissed Fornell off, and pissing off Fornell was never a wise decision. But that his – for just a half an hour ago, innocent – Sarah, sorry, Ziva worked for the Naval Criminal Investigation Service was just, well, just something he would never have imagined.

As well as the necklace. It was first now he had noticed it. First now, after they had met. He was sure that she hadn't worn it under the assignment six years ago. He would have noticed it. He had paid attention to her, her dresses, yes, her every performance had impressed him, leaving him stunned. But he had never seen the Star of David hanging at the neck of this beautiful Israeli before. He was Catholic, knowing the sigh of Jews. He now knew that Ziva was Jewish, and that was one of the few things, he now knew about her.

One thing was sure. Ziva David was a woman of more questions than answers.

At few days went by and distracted him from thinking of Ziva. He had got his clearance to work on a none stressing basis, which allowed him to be in the lab with his squints. Everyone seemed happy to see him, yet Brennan was distant from him, probably worked up. He was too distracted himself to dig deeper and found himself wishing that he was back in the psychology class, which brought him to why Ziva was there.

He had to talk to her again, he just knew it, even if it meant dealing with NCIS to get there. And only one person could help him with that. The name made him uncomfortable because he hadn't been there since his surgery and wasn't sure how his colleagues would treat him and no way he was to discuss it with the squints.

He sighed, fully aware where the Edgar Hoover building was.

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	3. Chapter 3: The outcome of knowledge

**A/N: **So here's chapter three. I just finished it and had a hard time writing it because I wasn't sure how foggy I'd allow it to be. This is the result, and as you've seen, I have named the chapters. There's no Z/B action in this chapter but it's somewhat interesting. Thanks to all who have faved the story and reviewed. Your reviews kept me writing this so quick (for me, that is).

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones or NCIS or any of their characters. I only wish I did.

And _**horseninja**, _I'd never embarrass Bones out of jealousy. The writers have done that in the episode The Doctor in the Photo and I despised that. Yeah, she'll be giving some stares but I'd never make her do something illogical. Subtle gestures and denial, probably. I'll come up with some B/B scene in next chapter.

**_KYTIVAFAN_**, you read my mind! But I warn you, it is gonna be pretty Z/B friendly for a while but I won't deny that there's gonna be some B/B action in the end. I just don't know how I'm gonna do that without hurting someone.. Bones will not be a rebound.

_**Davorah13**_, neither can I. There's some hint of Tiva in here, though, but one-sided.

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**Chapter 3: The outcome of knowledge**

It took him longer to drive to the headquarters of the agency than he would have liked if he'd been on a case. Today it felt like an eternity because of the many questions and pieces of broken informations that circled in his head. He kept denying the little information Ziva had given him and rejecting the truth. Although the mission was seven years ago, his memories were far from blurry and seemed more sincere than the half-truths he'd been given this morning. To know if she was lying or not, he had to see her file.

Which meant he had to go to the one person he was sure had been cooperating with NCIS. He sighed and parked the car in his usual spot but found himself hesitating as he exited the car. The fresh air seemed too dusty for him and he closed his eyes but it didn't keep pictures of Ziva – no, this time it was Sarah (and who could blame him? It was like they were two different persons) – from entering his mind and playing with him, just like he had been experiencing the day he woke up from brain surgery.

That realization stung in his chest. It reminded him of Bones and how he merely a week ago would've killed to be working with her again, and now was working on something without her – avoiding her and keeping something from her. He had considered mentioning it to her when he'd seen her in her office when she arrived from Guatemala but something seemed wrong with that. No, this was a piece of his past that he wouldn't let her tamper with. Something personal that he wasn't ready to discuss with the anthropologist.

So with pictures of seven years ago and his partner's horrified face when he hadn't recognized her, he hurried to the Edgar Hoover building and passing his own office on the way. He had way too much on his mind to notice how dim it looked and didn't even think about how he hadn't been in there for months. His new obsession kept him from picking up the vibes or glances from the secretaries and agents he passed. He finally reached the right office and hesitated. Was it really that important and did he really want the truth?

His hand automatically made its way to knock on the door and he damned his curiosity. Seconds passed by until a voice told him to come in.

Booth opened the door and saw the face of FBI Special Agent Tobias Fornell sitting behind the desk that took up most of the office. He closed the door behind him as the older agent gestured for him to come in. as he opened his mouth to speak, Fornell signed for him to stop as he typed something on his computer, giving Booth time to look at the aging agent.

Tobias Fornell had been in the Federal Bureau of Investigation for more than two decades and had both respect, a great resume and the physical appearance to prove it. His face wore the marks of knowledge and experience and a look of authority that only respected and successful agents possessed. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair and the white shirt underneath was nicely ironed, which made Booth relax further. At least the special agent wasn't working a case that required night hours and Fornell appeared to have been sleeping recently. Booth's eyes rested on a photo frame with a picture of Fornell and what appeared to be his daughter. It had been a long time since Booth had seen Emily who was about Parker's age. The photo was probably taken by Fornell's wife.

When Fornell was done with the report, he looked at Booth with a piercing gaze. He cleared his throat and gestured for Booth to sit down and the younger agent obeyed.

"So, Agent Booth, what brings you to my office? I heard you've just been reinstated," Fornell said and looked into his eyes, before adding, "Congratulations," with a suspicious mine. He had sensed that Booth wasn't here to discuss play dates between their children but seemed okay with the break from paperwork.

"Thanks, sir. I just wanted to know if you by any chance has been in contact with a woman named Ziva David during joint cases with the Naval Criminal Investigation Service?" he asked and picked up the recognition Fornell showed at the name. Although it wasn't an interrogation and Booth certainly hadn't interrogated anyone in months, he had caught Fornell off guard and now had the element of surprise to his advantage. However, he didn't suspect that Fornell would lie about meeting someone. Again, he was surprised by the older agent's sudden paranoia and curiosity while he oozed of someone trying to talk casually.

"NCIS? What are you working on a case that requires something like that?" Fornell said and leaned back in his chair.

"No, I am just curious," Booth lied with sincerity. It was only a half lie. He really was curious. "So, I guess you've met her when you worked with them?"

Fornell glared in his direction and paused before speaking. "I wouldn't go near that team if I were you, Booth. Trust me, there's a lot to say and I warn you, whatever reason you're asking of agent David, it's not worth it," he revealed and analyzed Booth's reaction like if in interrogation. Booth wasn't sure who was the suspect in that scenario but continued the conversation and the casual tone as he sensed Fornell was holding something back.

"Why?" the younger agent only said and eyed Fornell. "I hear they are uncooperative but I have no interest in dealing with them. I just think I have met Agent David in the past," he said and emphasized the last part so Fornell had no doubt that it wasn't a personal tie that had brought his curiosity forward.

"First off all, they protect themselves. A few years back, I worked with them when one of them was framed for murder. They're anything but willing to admit they're covering up. Agent David, as you've met, works for the Major Crime Response Team here in DC," Fornell revealed and tried to measure the surprise that came upon Booth's face. "For the past four years."

Booth was startled. Sure, he'd known that Ziva was here now but if she had been here for the last four years how had he not seen her? They could have stumbled across each other while doing grocery shopping, or met at a crime scene. In the past he'd had naval personnel involved in his crime scenes and in the investigation itself and he might even had seen her name on a report once but dismissed it. He almost choked on air but remembered where he was and tried to cover up how flabbergasted he actually were.

His brain had just progressed the information that Ziva had given him and now while he registered and denied this, he realized how many lies – no, just how much she hadn't told him whilst she could've. Booth had thought that she'd been so open, but now knew that she had told him exactly enough so he'd be satisfied and so little that he couldn't contact her. He didn't know where she lived, what job she had or what had brought her to the therapy class or _anything! _She had answered his questions and yet revealed nothing.

He let out a choking sound and stared at Fornell.

_Meanwhile, at the Navy Yard, NCIS headquarters_

Tony looked at the clock for the umpteenth time since this morning. He had memorized at what time his partner's lessons were finished and he had calculated in the last few weeks and estimated how long it usually took her to come entering the bullpen. Now it was 10.03 A.M. and her lessons finished at 9.00 A.M. Sometimes – three in total – she'd stopped for breakfast (at least that was what she'd told him) first and arrived later. But never that late and that was why he'd called her at 9.45 and asked how long it would take her to get the coffee. Without disobedience, she'd agreed and he hadn't dared to ask her what was the reason she'd been so eager to finish the phone call. He still wasn't certain what they were or where they stood; friends, colleagues, acquaintances? After Tel Aviv he'd been certain that she hated him but after Somalia, he was unsure of every move she made and doubted if it was against him or if she staggered towards her father.

_Couldn't live without you_, he'd said. That was true so he'd just have to live with her being here, uncertain of them.

As he gave the phone the death glare of Gibbs for the thousandth time since twenty minutes ago, he heard the elevator ding and quickly shot his line of vision towards his co-worker who came bearing four styrofoam cups with coffee – two black coffees for their boss and herself, one literally sugarcoated, and a moccachino. Wordlessly, she balanced the chart and maneuvered to Gibbs' desk, continued to McGee's – who was in Abby's lab, helping her decode a encrypted laptop – and placed her own next to her computer in a swift movement and handed his to him in seconds.

"Thanks," Tony replied hoarsely, catching himself in having his mouth agape for the whole time. He didn't say more as his dignity preferably had some tiny piece left of it and he wouldn't risk that. Plus, he had nothing to say that wouldn't make them both awkward and uncomfortable. He discretely watched as she sat down, swung her bag on its position next to her desk and rebooted the computer that she wouldn't use, only to avoid any conversation.

Tony tightened his hands in fists but said nothing as he pretended to turn his attention elsewhere. He held back from a great sigh and wet his lips as their boss appeared in the bullpen. Tony tried to listen to what his boss had to say but the upset mine of Ziva's face didn't go unnoticed by him, as Gibbs seemed to. Or maybe he chose to ignore it. Tony found it wise not to comment.

_In the office of Tobias Fornell_

Booth listened as Fornell continued, not believing half of the things that was subtle being said but nevertheless registering them for later use. He stored the pieces of informations in his mind and found himself puzzled by how involved Fornell seemed to be with the naval Major Crime Response Team.

"Her team is led by a former marine by the name of Gibbs. Nasty old bastard but I suppose you can call him a friend of mine," the older agent admitted as he dwelled upon a street along memory lane. Booth noted how he continued to avoid further deepening into their specific relationship. It, however, didn't go unnoticed by him that Fornell's eyes twitched and flickered to the photo of his daughter when he mentioned the latter part of the admission.

"It was the late NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard who approved Agent David's transfer as a liaison officer between Mossad and her agency." Fornell looked at him, expecting another surprised expression at the revelation of the position and Ziva's ties with Mossad. He didn't get any and reluctantly carried on with unease.

"She was sent here to avoid an international crisis between Israel and the U.S., and after the crisis was over, she remained as a part of the team. I have worked with them several times and trust me, her loyalty lies with them. In the four years she has only been absent twice and...," Fornell trailed off, uncertain if he were to proceed. He looked at Booth to clarify his own opinion that he might not like what he was to know after this statement.

"And..?" Booth asked with interest.

The older agent sighed and made a decision. "Last year, she was sent back to Mossad after the inconvenient death of Director Shepard whom she were to protect during a protection detail with her partner, Agent DiNozzo," Fornell said with a somewhat despise and perhaps annoyance that probably covered his true opinions of the agent. Booth picked up on the name revelation of Ziva's so far unnamed partner. DiNozzo. He pictured an obese Italian guy with the usual detective arrogance and smoke habit. How could someone like that work with her? His mind drifted off but Fornell continued the talk and so Booth kept up.

"She was injured during the Mossad assignment and sent back." Fornell grunted at that but didn't explain why. "However, things were never quite the same..."

"How so?"

"Six months later, a protected house was compromised. I don't know the details but several heads of agencies risked their lives when someone killed an ICE agent to get to them. The next thing I know, half of the team flies to LA to do some digging and meets an old partner of Officer David. Because of his contact to Mossad, he is released."

Booth shot his gaze to Fornell's and the older agent sighed, leaned down and unlocked his desk drawer, finding a specific file.

"Two weeks later, he's dead by the hand of one Anthony DiNozzo. His name? Mossad Officer Michael Rivkin."

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